I'm A Bit Sad, Robin
by Greenlips24
Summary: Sometimes, amid the hurt and confusion, when all is said and done, you just know its time. This expands a scene in The Cuckoo's Calling TV drama. I do not own these characters.


**I'm A Bit Sad, Robin**

By Greenlips 24

oOo

That first day, Strike had seen the massive engagement ring on her finger.

He had seen how she looked at it when she thought no-one would see, or just, when she thought about it. Which was often.

He had been glad of it, as it turned out. That ring.

It was the barrier he needed.

He should erect barriers.

Against ...

Who?

Charlotte? Or Robin?

Or himself.

Charlotte and Robin.

How did those two names suddenly go together?

When had she crept into their equation?

His and Charlotte's.

And why?

Was it because she was a new face, in the detritus of his life?

Because she was fresh and keen and enthusiastic?

Had he ever been _tha_ t keen and enthusiastic?

And _... happy_?!

God damn, no-one should be that happy, he thought, rubbing his hand down his face.

He should be thinking of Charlotte; _"Soon to be Mrs Jago Ross."_

That's what had brought him here.

But he had drunk enough now to dull the ache, and he could no longer conjure up her face.

All that was left was the sadness.

So, when Robin had appeared before him, as he sat by himself in The Tottenham, drowning sorrows and regrets with his favourite Doom Bar; he was surprised.

But mostly, he was touched.

It was a new feeling.

"You're a very nice person," he heard himself say.

It had slipped easily from his lips.

Perhaps it had not been the first time he had thought it.

That was personal, he realised, despite his ever-increasingly befuddled brain.

She looked at him.

"Don't go anywhere," she said softly, heading to the bar.

"I won't go anywhere. Cross my heart."

No further. Barriers to be erected.

He should, he thought. He should stay Right. Here. No further.

So many confusing thoughts were tumbling through his tired mind and he had reached the point where his mouth would soon begin to work independently of his brain.

And that would _not_ be good. No sir.

He looked up.

Robin was standing with her back to him, at the bar now.

He suddenly felt the need to explain something.

"Actually Robin, I'm a wee bit pissed."

He made to stand. See? He said he wouldn't go anywhere, and here he was, getting to his feet.

Foot.

Damn.

He still had a thin measure of control over his brain but it would soon go and the words would tumble out, and he would regret it in the morning.

So many thoughts.

Then, it all got a bit much, and he started rambling. The man with the beard was annoying him.

Robin was a steady presence at his side. She wanted to get him some food and he gave in, easily now; spent.

The sadness was creeping back.

 _It was time to go._

So he had allowed himself to be led.

Because, God knew, he needed a kind face. He needed that honesty. Was it naivety on her part, or just a joy of life that comes from a sapphire and a couple of diamonds; and the promise that gives?

He had had joy in his life once. And happiness. But it had become harder and harder to hold on to in light of Charlotte's increasing dependence on the drama of it all. Because she _was_ dependant, he had come to realise. Not the free spirit he had once thought her in their early days.

They had been pulled into the glare of publicity that had surrounded them and she had become erratic; demanding. Then, almost at the same time, her mood would change and she was his Charlotte once more; loving and compliant in her apologies.

Until the next time.

But he loved her, and so it had become the norm.

Their slow, steady dance toward destruction; anything but normal.

The norm - until the last time, when she had thrown the ashtray and he had not managed to get out of the way in time. He had become lost in his own recriminations; his own angry voice loud in his ears. He had wanted to stop her but a small part of him that he did not recognize had also wanted to hit back. To reciprocate. Wanted to reach out and take her neck in his large hands and ...

 _That_ had scared him.

And in that moment, he had realised something.

He had wanted it all to just. _stop._

 _It was time_.

 **End**


End file.
